


Outcast

by FantasticalWhisper



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drama, Gen, Original Character(s), Origins, Pre-Canon, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticalWhisper/pseuds/FantasticalWhisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begins 40 years before the events of the main FFVII game. Shinra is the most powerful--and some argue immoral--company on the planet. In order to train new recruits for combat, it has established the Shinra Military and Special Forces Academy. And that is exactly where Alexa ends up. Can she prove her worth and rise to the ranks of the infamous Turks? And if she does, will there be consequences?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally posted this story on fanfiction.net (about 30 chapters). After a year's hiatus, I decided to give it a reboot and continue the tale. I hope you enjoy!

**Location: Shinra Military and Special Forces Academy**

**Wyld Mountain Range, 17 km southeast of Kalm**

                **Age: 15 years old, Level: Academy Fodder**

Alexa Spero sniffled as she rubbed her eyes and then pulled the blanket over her head, blocking out the light of the fading sun that gave the room a crimson glow. A few of her classmates had been picking on her yet again, and try as she might she couldn’t prevent the wretchedness that engulfed her. Today they had made fun of her voice; it was soft and “girly,” despite her effort to deepen it. The gang’s relentless taunts had crumbled her resolve, while her petite frame was defenseless against the onslaught of punches and kicks from boys much larger than herself. The school’s instructors turned a blind eye to the bullying. They, along with the rest of the residents of the Academy, simply did not care if Alexa was abused and miserable.

Her main fault was her gender. The majority of male students and instructors seemed to loathe girls on principle ever since the school became co-ed. It was challenging for female applicants to gain entry, and Alexa was only able to attend due to her father’s connections with the Shinra Company. This “special treatment” was considered an unfair advantage by her peers, though none knew the full story of how and why she came to be here. This  hostile atmosphere had made it impossible for Alexa to make any friends, and she took the brunt of the bullying when her classmates got bored. Usually Alexa could put on a tough face before her tormenters, but some days she just couldn’t help herself. When the boys saw tears they hit her harder. Today had been one of those days.

This was her life at Shinra Military and Special Forces Academy. Alexa had first arrived feeling eager and confident. She was ready for an adventure, ready to meet the teenagers who would grow into the most skilled fighters on the planet. But she hadn’t anticipated the crushingly competitive atmosphere, or the endless lists of rules and regulations. It was only two months since the start of the semester, but she had already christened her new home “Hell on Gaia.”

Alexa wondered what she could have done to deserve this treatment. She hugged her knees closer to her body, letting her anxieties and doubts consume her. Now that she was back in her sparse, cramped closet of a bedroom she could wallow in her gloomy thoughts without anyone bothering her. Her goal wasn’t to become the best—she was too levelheaded to know that was impossible. She did, however, want to do _her_ best. She was determined to succeed and shove it in the faces of those male chauvinists who looked down at her… but more importantly, she wanted to assist her father. She constantly reminded herself that she was at the Academy for him. That detail seemed to be the only thing keeping her going.

Theodore Spero was an anthropologist—the greatest alive, Alexa believed. He was certainly one of the most well-known of this age. Theodore’s life ambition was to decipher the ancient Cetran legends. Precious few documents withstood the test of time, and even fewer of these were fully intact. Alexa had always been so proud of her father’s work. As a child, she loved staying up late into the evening to sit next to him in their library, watching him pour over old Cetran scrolls with their mysterious characters and translate them into his own concise handwriting. On some nights, Theodore would pause in his transcriptions and read a few passages to his entranced daughter. When she was older Alexa would read them herself, curling up in an old armchair and devouring the stories until she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Alexa had known a comfortable childhood. Shinra had funded her father’s work, which meant she grew up ignorant of the hardships many families faced in this harsh world. The Speros lived in a manor in a quaint town on the western coast of Mideel, the largest island off the Eastern Continent. She might have still been living there, going to school with her friends and then being apprenticed by a scholar from her father’s collegiate circles, had fate been kinder.

xxxxx

Ironically, the only place where she ever felt happy these days was the shooting range in the Academy’s basement. The focus needed to excel here provided a momentary piece of mind, which was a very welcome distraction. Alexa bade her mind to clear, pushing away all her pent-up resentment and frustration. She breathed a sigh as she felt the tension slowly fade. The negative thoughts would return, but for now she could forget and find peace in the moment.

Raising the pistol in her hand, she took aim and pulled the trigger. Even with earmuffs, the room rang with a loud satisfying bang. Pleased, Alexa allowed herself a smile; there was now a hole within the second innermost ring of the target forty feet away.

The discovery she had been a decent shot was vindication why she hadn’t packed up and left like most girls brave or foolish enough to enroll. Being raised by a pacifist, Alexa had never known combat until coming to the Academy. The lifestyle change had been shocking. She hated training with practice swords and metal batons, lacking in the natural strength of her male counterparts. As hard as she tried, she was simply no match for them.

Alexa considered herself a lost cause until the day they learned to use a handgun. She was intimidated at first as she weighed the small weapon in her hand and knew it was capable of blasting metal at an incredible velocity with the twitch of a finger. It was an accident waiting to happen. But once she fired a few rounds, Alexa felt nothing but exhilaration and was eager to keep going. In this area strength didn’t matter, and she found herself matching some of the top boys in her year. But far from winning her peers’ respect, Alexa became the focus of even more harassment. It was just her luck.

The dull click of the empty magazine brought her mind out of its trancelike focus. She popped it out of the pistol’s now empty chamber and reloaded. Once she finished replacing the rounds, she slid the silver rectangle back into the pistol’s hollow handle.

Alexa spent as much free time as she could afford in the shooting range. Now that she had found a worthwhile skill, she cultivated it as carefully as possible. Measuring up to the high standards Shinra presented was an incredibly difficult task, and only an elite few graduated every year in the Specialty divisions. Alexa strove to be counted in their ranks.

She took careful aim for her last shot. Making sure she had a perfect bead on the target, she fired. The bullet punctured the innermost circle.

 _Maybe I’ll make a Turk after all,_ she thought with a grin.


	2. Doodles in the Dirt

“You’re not covering your left flank, Spero! Adjust!” Mr. Mallahoy roared. “Fletcher, keep that sword up! Hand up! Higher!”

“But she’s so short,” the boy responded, earning some laughs from his friends on the sideline. The elementary combat instructor gave a curt warning but otherwise didn’t punish the insubordinate reply.

 _How am I supposed to adjust if I don’t know the right way?_ wondered Alexa. She was becoming increasingly frustrated. The pair had been sparring for over fifteen minutes now without a break. The scorching sun was directly overhead, beating down on them and making it even harder to concentrate. The cracked dirt beneath her shoes spewed clouds of brown dust every time she moved, choking her parched throat.

Retreating out of range for a quick breather, she assessed her opponent. Jakob Fletcher was one of the tallest in her year, though he was decidedly scrawny. He towered over a foot higher than her, making the matchup obscenely unfair—Alexa was suspicious that the instructor had probably done this on purpose. Jakob locked gazes with her and gave her a nasty smirk. He was also part of the gang of bullies that tormented her on a daily basis.

Hoping to catch Jakob off-guard she quickly lunged, feinting at his waist. The boy read her bluff and easily parried her sword. He quickly retaliated with a few jabs that she awkwardly dodged. Alexa backed up and wiped the sweat off her brow with a quick sweep of her hand. But her opponent was faster than she anticipated. She didn’t have time to block the wooden sword that whacked her smartly across the shoulder.

“Spero! What did I tell you about guarding your left flank!” Mallahoy admonished. He grunted and shook his head patronizingly. “I’ve seen as much as I can tolerate. Chrissen, Emiel, you’re up!”

It was disturbing how intentionally mean teachers could be to their students. Alexa lowered her eyes and sat against the wall as the next two students strode into the practice ring with swords in hand. The wall offered shade, but the air was still stiflingly hot. Her peers scooted away from where she sat or just ignored her. Their actions were fine by her; being ignored was better than being picked on.

She watched the sparing for a bit, but soon lost interest. It was too hot to be outside in this heat. She wiped her face with her shirt, wishing they could be in one of the air-conditioned gymnasiums. But upper level students had preference for those facilities, so she had no choice but to get heatstroke and sunburns. Besides, being out in the elements builds character—or that’s what her year’s advisor, Mr. Tucker, told them. She could just imagine what class would be like in winter.

To pass time Alex drew in the dirt with the point of her wooden sword. At first they were just random squiggles, but soon they shaped themselves into the forms of exotic characters of the Cetran language that used to amaze and confound her as a child. In no way was she comparable to her father’s linguistic mastery, but she did know a hundred or so simple words. “Dirt” followed “home” and “girl,” and then the symbols for “sun” and “mountain.” The Ancients loved writing ballads about how great the Planet was, so words for nature comprised most of her vocabulary. She scratched another symbol absentmindedly, fondly reminiscing about her lessions with her father.

She looked down at what she wrote. It was the character for “hope.” Like its meaning, the character was beautiful—a mass of swirls that twisted to form something she likened to a bird’s wing, which was an allusion Alexa always loved. She traced it again more carefully, making sure every line was perfect.

A brown boot entered her line of sight, and before she could react it stomped down on her drawings.

“Swords are for killing people, not drawing in the dirt. Wouldn’t you rather have some dolls to play with?” taunted a voice. The boot kicked a cloud of dirt at her, erasing all the symbols she painstakingly detailed.

Alexa raised her head and glared at the bully. The sneering face of her most hated rival loomed above her. Even after the strenuous workout, Stark Maverick’s wave of platinum hair lay immaculately on his head without a single straying lock.

“Stop daydreaming, Spero, or you’ll miss Mallahoy’s directions,” Stark told her with an arrogant nod to the instructor.

She gave a start and looked over to where Mr. Mallahoy was issuing orders in a loud voice. She had been tuning him out, believing he was only yelling his usual critiques to the boys who were sparring.

“—but save that for later. First off, you’ll need to complete a circuit,” he was telling the group. He gave them all a scowling once-over.  “Well, what are you waiting for? Double time!”

Alexa jumped to her feet, biting back a groan. A circuit was over four kilometers long, following the perimeter of the Academy complex. Her limbs already felt like lead, and she ached from the sword bashing. Nevertheless, she took off after the others hoping this time she wouldn’t finished too far behind.

 _And I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do once I finish_. Alexa was too tired for a full-out panic, but nevertheless she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the finish line. She decided to watch the other students when the time came and hoped they wouldn’t try to trick her.

After that resolution she pushed the distressing notions from her mind and got into the motion of the run, trying not to think about how much farther she had to go.

xxxxx

The female locker room was little more than old storage space connected to a refurbished janitor’s closet. Alexa stepped into one of the two showers and attempted to ignore the stench of cleaning products that still permeated the place. She had learned from experience to always wear flip flops while bathing and to not tug on the curtain too hard or else it would fall. At least the water was hot.

Alexa raised her head so that the water hit her directly in the face. It had been a long day, as expected. After the run the students had to perform a series of core-strengthening exercises. It didn’t sound so bad when they started, but in their already fatigued states it took a real effort not to fall flat on their faces.

 _I may never be able to hold my hands above my head again_ , Alexa thought as she struggled to rinse the shampoo from her hair.

She finished washing and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body. It was slightly creepy being in the locker room alone. Alexa was the only girl in her year and one of only eight in the entire student body. And since there was a better washroom on the upperclassmen level, there was little chance she would be interrupted here.

Alexa dressed in silence, wincing as she touched a few purple blemishes in the array of new and fading bruises that dotted her body. She wrapped the towel around her damp hair and gathered her things. After a surreptitious glance out the door, she exited the locker room and took a right. This would take her the long way, but at least she could circumvent most of the guys’ rooms.

The trip to her room was without incident. Closing the door with an audible exhalation of relief, she locked it behind her and flicked the single switch on the wall. The mako-fueled lighting brought the tiny cubicle into harsh relief. The only pieces of furniture besides her bed were a shabby wooden desk and tiny wardrobe. Alexa threw her dirty clothes on the floor beside her wardrobe, followed by her toilet kit. After kicking off her wet flip flops she walked over to her desk, where her small collection of books stood in a meticulous line. She ran a hand down the worn bindings, wishing she could just read the night away. Her father had given her this small assortment of stories and poems as a going-away present. They were a bit of home in this cold prison camp. But every day was so grueling she had either been too tired or too afraid to waste precious time reading like she wished.

 _Don’t worry, father, I’ll find time to read,_ she silently promised. Somehow.With her new life, leisure was nothing more than a distant fantasy.

The image of the ailing scholar seemed to rise from the shadows cast by the bright ceiling light. Alexa wished she could see him or just hear his voice, but any form of communication with the outside world was forbidden. It was yet another reason to hate this place. Did Shinra think the students were spies from the company’s enemies sent on secret espionage missions? She wouldn’t have been surprised.

 _President Shinra is a scheming bastard,_ Alexa decided as she removed the towel from her head and raked her fingers through her hair in a makeshift comb. Already her brown locks were drying into disorderly ringlets. She sighed and looked in the mirror. She always wished she could do something with her hair, but that wild mane never listened to her.

She brushed off the annoyance and returned to her previous, more important concern weighing heavily on her mind. The man who owned the Shinra Power Company had made her father nearly get on his knees and beg until the president agreed not to forgo funding. Alexa had been the deciding factor. Dr. Spero was allowed to remain in Mideel so long as his only child attended the Shinra’s special training facility. If Alexa continued to meet the Academy’s standards, her father would be provided for; if not, both of them would be completely cut off. Her father was no longer in the best of health, so they needed the continual financial support. The downside to excelling was that she could end up working personally for the heartless executive she so despised. Either way, the outcome of her life was in her own hands.

She turned off the lights and settled onto her lumpy mattress to sleep. The flood lights outside filtered in past her window shades, creating stripes of light and shadow across her wall.

 _And there’s my jail cell,_ Alexa thought bitterly. How was she going to survive four years here?


	3. Looking Up

_Oh Shiva, not again!_ pleaded Alexa as she raced down the hallway. She had forgotten to set her alarm last night. Breakfast was out of the question. Her goal was to sneak into the back of class without drawing attention. Hopefully luck was on her side for once.

As if fate enjoyed messing with her, the location of this morning’s session was in the training room on the first sub-floor of the Academy’s main complex. The trip down six flights wouldn’t have been too bad, except this particular training room was on the opposite site from the living quarters.

The crisp chime over the intercom indicated that classes had officially begun. Alexa burst out of the stairwell and gung-hoed it down the bright hallway. She skidded to a halt outside the correct door and took a few steadying breaths before pressing the blue button on the console.

The door slid open with a hiss and she cautiously stepped through. Mr. Hemp, the instructor of her short-ranged weaponry tutorial, spared her a brief disapproving look before returning his attention back to the class. Realizing she would not be getting publically chewed out by the instructor, Alexa exhaled in relief before tiptoeing towards the back of the crowd.

“We’ll be reviewing the basic forms of batons today,” Mr. Hemp was explaining. A few boys groaned. “Quit your complaining! Without practice you lot won’t be prepared for our advancement into higher-classed weaponry.” Most of the class perked up at this, but it became Alexa’s turn to groan. Even though a baton was a standard for Turks, it was yet another type of weapon she had grown to dislike. She wasn’t looking forward to harder drills in the near future.

“Sir,” Stark Maverick said in the fake respectable tone he used to charm adults. “Does that mean we’ll get to use electro-mag rods today?”

Mr. Hemp’s long brown beard bobbled up and down as he chuckled. “Not just yet. But you _will_ get a taste of the stunning variety of batons next week, so save your enthusiasm my boy.” The instructor himself sounded excited to get into the more dangerous equipment. Besides teaching short-range weapon skills, Hemp was also the advanced ballistics instructor. But for all his expertise in missiles and other advanced precision technology, the man seemed to prefer people beating each other up with metal sticks.

Alexa for one did _not_ want to whack people with sticks, and adding electricity to the mix was not her idea of fun. She waited in line as everyone selected a aluminum baton of an appropriate length. Due to the nature of the baton, which functioned using weight rather than a keen edge, there was no such thing as a “practice weapon” like there was with swords. It was believed students should become accustomed to the standard weight distribution as quickly as possible in order to learn the correct technique.

When Alexa’s turn came she grabbed the shortest rod she could find, but by then most of the class had already selected their weapons and she didn’t get much choice. There was a large dent near the shaft’s end. Looking at it, she tried not to imagine a skull being split open by the round metal surface. Even though they weren’t sharp, a generous swing could still break a bone. A few of her classmates had already learned that the hard way.

The class split up into regularly-spaced lines, and once the instructor made sure everyone was out of striking distance of one other he began.

“First position!” called Hemp, and he watched as the students raised their rods out in front of them in mirrored movements. “Good, now a step forward and uppercut.” They did as instructed. “Pivot and repeat.”

Mr. Hemp led them through the routine series of swings with corresponding footwork during the next half hour. When he was finally satisfied he allowed them a short respite. Alexa was breathing heavily as she went to grab a cup of water, feeling pretty good about her performance. She made quick work of her small ration and chugged a second in rapid succession.

“Save some for the fish, Spero,” Stark told her in an undertone and shoved past her to the water cooler, nearly knocking the plastic cup from her hand.

“If only she was as fast with a weapon,” Jakob Fletcher added with a smug grin.

Alexa gritted her teeth, wishing she had the courage to say aloud the retort that formed in her mind. The two boys snickered.

 “Alright you lot, time to get paired up!” Hemp shouted over the general chatting, which signaled the break was over. Everyone immediately began to gravitate towards one another. “Not so fast. I’ll be doing the partner selections this time.”

Alexa ended up facing a boy named Kitz. He was closer to her height than most and didn’t have much bulk, but after the initial confidence boost Alexa found she still couldn’t best him. The training room resonated with metallic clangs as the scattering of non-formal duels broke out.

Alexa was quick on her feet but lacked the physical power to make any real progress. She was forced on the defensive, deflecting intermittent blows from her opponent.

_This isn’t going anywhere,_ she thought in frustration.

In a moment of bravado she decided to attack, leaping forward and putting her entire momentum into the downward slice. Kitz skirted around her attack and in a move that was more luck than skill he pushed her off balance. Alexa couldn’t stop her forward progression and ended up landing on her elbows on the matted flooring. The metal baton dislodged from her sweaty grip on impact and careened wildly across the floor, causing a series of startled shouts as boys jumped out of the baton’s trajectory.

A groan escaped Alexa’s lips, more from humiliation than pain. Her short-range weaponry class was one of the few classes where she hadn’t made an utter fool of herself.

_Well, now I can cross this one off my lists,_ she thought miserably.

“I don’t believe I taught you to throw your weapon, Miss Spero,” Hemp stated as he marched towards her. He was looking down at her with a frown, one hand clutching her wayward baton.

She quickly jumped to her feet, not wanting to be glared down upon whilst lying on the floor. She wished her peers hadn’t all stopped their exercises to watch. Glancing slightly behind her teacher, she saw Stark and a few other boys laughing while Fletcher made lewd gestures at her with his own baton.

Alexa wanted to shoot laser beams with her glare, but had to redirect her gaze when Mr. Hemp continued. “If you cannot control yourself, please leave the room.” Alexa’s stared dumbstruck at the man, unsure if she heard right. The instructor nodded his bearded chin toward the door. “You’re dismissed for the day.”

There was nothing else for her to do besides arguing, which would have earned her detention. Alexa stalked out of class, feeling humiliated. She had tried her best, but what did _that_ get her? She could just imagine what Stark and his cronies were saying about her this very moment.

Alexa was so busy fuming that she was not paying attention to her surroundings. She turned the corner and rammed into someone with such force that both she and her unfortunate victim crashed to the floor.

“Ouch,” Alexa moaned, sprawled completely on the white tiles. Her poor, freshly-scraped elbows took the brunt of the fall, doubling the intense stinging pain. She blew the hair out of her face and raised her head to see if the other person was okay. It was another student, seemingly one of the upperclassmen.

“Sorry about that,” she mumbled as she watched the boy pick himself up. He looked vaguely familiar, with messy black hair that fell into his face, but she couldn’t recall where she had seen him. The boy turned to face her. Intense dark eyes locked with her own light brown for a moment before softening.

“It’s okay,” he responded civilly. And then to her surprise the boy extended a hand towards her. “Are you alright?”

Alexa looked at the proffered hand, then back up at the boy’s face. It didn’t seem like he was about to pull a fast one on her, so she accepted his help. His hand was firm and warm as he pulled her to her feet.

“Um, I’m fine… and thanks,” she said awkwardly. She was not used to people being nice to her here. “Well, bye.”

With that, she pivoted on her heel to execute a quick escape. Alexa made it ten feet before realizing she was going in the direction she had originally come. Blushing profusely, she forced herself to a stop and turned to walk the correct way. When she passed the boy she tried not to make eye contact.

“Bye,” the boy called after her retreating figure, sounding both amused and slightly baffled.

xxxxx

Yesterday had not been one of her more shining moments. Alexa was appalled by her klutzy, brainless behavior. She decided it was best to forget her messy display in class, since that sort of thing was bound to repeat itself over and over. But the hallway fiasco was plain embarrassing and she committed to never running into that boy again—figuratively _and_ literally.

_It was a shame, really,_ Alexa thought forlornly. _He seemed like a nice guy. And I didn’t even learn his name._ Not that it mattered. She had hereby resolved to never intentionally place herself in another humiliating situation again, and seeing that boy once more would end inevitably thus.

She was walking up to the living quarters to spend the hour of free time before class in her room. A large blue flier on the wall caught her eye and she slowed down to view it. Alexa did not usually read the notices that sometimes decorated the tiny corkboards on the otherwise pristine walls, but the picture of a handgun in the center had jumped out at her. Upon closer inspection, she learned that the Academy was hosting a school-wide shooting tournament scheduled for that weekend. There would be winners from each of the four years and then a match of these finalists would determine the tournament champion.

Alexa grinned as she imagined winning the whole competition. That would earn her a decent reputation. Her classmates would think twice about picking on her then.

“And what are we looking at, Spero?” she heard a voice behind her call. She pivoted around to face both Stark and Flynn Woods, Stark’s quiet second-in-command, in the otherwise empty hallway. Dismayed, she briefly wondered if she was just unlucky or they were deliberately searching her out.

“ _We_ aren’t looking at anything,” Alexa responded in a rare moment of courage.

Stark made a _tsk-_ ing noise and turned to address his comrade. “My, she certainly is hostile today. I hate to see what would happen if we made her angry.” He made a show of being frightened and then returned his attention to Alexa. “So, you’re thinking about entering the tournament? I wouldn’t bother if I were you. Don’t you already humiliate yourself enough times a day?”

Flynn laughed obediently and Alexa tightened her jaw, though inwardly she was demoralized by the comment. _He’s right… there’s no way I could actually win._

Stark read the uncertainty on her face and smirked. “Stand on the sideline like a good little girl and leave the competition for the real students here. There isn’t a talented bone in your wimpy body. You’d never beat me.”

This time, his words hit a nerve.

_I’ve had enough of this guy,_ she thought, her self-doubt suddenly shifting into the natural stubborn spirit she’d been burying all these weeks. Stark was a good with a handgun, but so was she.

“I can beat you,” Alexa told Stark, facing him with the glare she had reserved from the other day.

Stark raised an immaculately groomed eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, if you want to enter go right ahead. I won’t go easy on you. As you’re well aware, I have no qualms about beating a girl.”

“Do you have any about losing to one?” Alexa countered. She liked hearing the challenge in her voice; her father definitely wouldn’t, but it was about time she stood up for herself.

The bully grunted at her comment. He pretended to be unimpressed but underneath his cocky expression he seemed a little unruffled by her shift from the usual meek target.

“Whatever. It’s your funeral.” With that Stark strolled away with an arrogant spring in his step. Flynn gave her a quick ascertaining look before following his leader.

Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest. She couldn’t believe she had gotten away with that; usually an encounter with Stark left her with a new bruise. Her pulse was still racing as the two boy’s footsteps faded. Alexa’s eyes traveled back to the flier.

_This will be great,_ she thought confidently. _I can totally do this!_ The tournament was the perfect way to prove to herself and to others what she was capable of. She could belong here.


	4. Tournament Fodder

_I can totally_ not _do this._ Alexa felt like a tiny pond fish thrown into the vast ocean. She was way out of her depth, and she knew it.

A special shooting range had been erected on the parade grounds. Large bleachers were standing on either side and were quickly filling to capacity by a steady stream of students. It seemed like the entire school had shown up to watch the Shinra Academy Annual Shooting Competition. The cacophony of chatter, laughing and shouts was overwhelming.

Alexa had given up on remaining calm, figuring if she continued clamping down her mind she’d lose her ability to relax when the critical time came. She stared out at the growing crowd of spectators, fidgeting with the pistol in her hand. It was a newer model than what she practiced with in basement shooting range and that made her nervous; she wanted some sort of familiarity during this crazy experience.

 _Suck it up_ , she chided herself and once more reviewed the key points of her training. What was normally basic nature she now found slipping out of her head like particles of gunpowder. She wondered if she could keep her wits together until the end of the tournament.

The contestants were gathered in the large, partially enclosed tent set up near the main building. Looking around, Alexa noticed that although she was the solitary female in the group, she wasn’t the only one tangled up in nerves. A few people were sitting in chairs, fingers drumming against knees or feet jittering to a fevered rhythm. One boy had even taken up pacing and scanning the bleachers with a pained expression. Compared to her competition, Alexa considered herself rather well off.

Alex tilted her head to see past the pacing boy. At the far end of the tent she could make out a tall figure leaning against a support beam, his hands crossed and lounging in apparent ease. Evidently there was one contestant who wasn’t fighting the urge to vomit. On closer inspection, her stomach threatened to make her regret her choice of words. It was the older boy she had run earlier that week. And those four days had not done much to ease her embarrassment.

She quickly averted her eyes. If he was in the tournament too, then there was no way she could avoid him for long. In the meantime, there were other people with which to occupy herself.

“Well, look who actually decided to show up,” she heard Stark say as he walked into the tent. The boy wasn’t flanked by his usual cohort of goons. Alex noticed he appeared less threatening that way.

“Look who showed up alone,” Alexa replied evenly.

Anger lit Stark’s eyes and he took a step forward, but he refrained from whatever he obviously wanted to do. He looked around the crowded tent and then gave her a look. The threat was clear—there were too many witnesses now, but she’d better watch her back.

The worst thing about getting picked on by Stark and his gang was the fact that they were smart. As long as they ambushed her out of sight of any authority figures and avoided hitting her face, Alexa had no solid proof that she was being maltreated. After all, the majority of students in her year supported similar bumps and bruises from training, and she was known for being a bit… sloppy.

Alexa turned away in an attempt to ignore him. Her eyes trailed down to the pistol in her hands, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it sprang into being. Stark may be a bully, but he didn’t deserve to die. The gun didn’t even have any bullets in it yet. But that was beside the point.

Suddenly a gruff, booming voice projected over the yard. “The Fodder first round will begin shortly. All participants should proceed to the shooting grounds immediately.”

 _Well, here we go._ Trying her hardest not to appear afraid,Alexa rose with at least a dozen boys in her year.

“Go get ‘em, Fodder,” said an upperclassmen as they exited the tent.

“Yeah, try not to suck too badly,” called out another. “Don’t want you to lose the crowd’s attention before the real action starts.”

Alexa grimaced. She disliked the official term for first year Academy students. The word “fodder” had a negative connotation; it indicated the establishment held no respect for them. To Shinra they were nothing more than a pool of candidates with a scant quantity of potential, needing to be picked through to find anything worthwhile. There were a little over ninety first years, but that number would decrease by half within the next year. Shinra was very particular. Some Fodder would quit, but most would be kicked out—they failed to show their worth and these facilities wouldn’t be wasted on them. Those who did possess talent would become Accepted and begin the grueling yet rewarding path towards excellence. Alexa needed to do well in this tournament to ensure she would make the cut. That was probably the goal of every Fodder here.

The group of first year contestants walked past the tall metal bleachers and onto the field, where they came into sight of the tournament announcer, a man named Mr. Guzman. Alexa knew he was an instructor, but couldn’t recall what classes he taught. Now that she got a good look at him as she passed the announcer’s booth, she realized his voice seemed a direct contrast to his appearance. The man was very tiny, his stature made even more apparent by his position at the elevated pedestal. His hair was a wild disarray of fluffy light brown hair that seemed childish, and even more so on a grown man.

Alexa peered across the field, where a large steel contraption of pulleys and levers held the targets. She had shot at this type of target countless times, but now the one she would be aiming for today seemed smaller and further away to her.

There turned out to be a total of fifteen first years, including Alexa, in the tournament. Guzman read each of their names as they took positions along the shooting line whilst another instructor handed out ammunition. When Alexa’s name was read a hum of laughter past through the spectators and a few even pointed at her. She loaded the magazine into the gun’s handle, trying to ignore the butterflies in her gut. She wished she wasn’t the only girl on the field.

“In the first round, all competitors will be allowed ten bullets. They must hit their assigned target as many times as possible. After all shots have been fired, the seven competitors with the most successful hits will advance to the next round.”

Only seven would advance. Alexa felt sick. She had less than a fifty percent chance of staying in the tournament. Her gun trembled in her hands and she took a deep breath.

 _Relax, concentrate,_ she told herself. _You’ve practiced way more than your classmates. This is a piece of cake_.

“Contestants at the ready!” Guzman warned into the megaphone.

Alexa gave a start—she hadn’t mentally prepared herself yet! She scrambled to get her mind in order, but when the announcer shouted “Begin!” she wasn’t ready. Nevertheless, she took careful aim and fired at the target’s center. Her first two shots hit the outer ring while the third barely nicked the frame entirely. The fourth missed. Alexa paused and took a deep breath, trying to expel the frustration that was threatening to chew her up. Her unsteady hands were making the barrel wobble through the air. All around her the loud retorts of the other pistols pounded in her eardrums like thunder.

Feeling slightly deterred by the fact no one else had stopped, she clenched her hands to bring her gun’s movements to a halt and started firing. She managed to hit the target four more times.

Guzman announced the ending of the round and told the contestants to wait while the scores were tallied. The large mechanism turned with a groan of gears, lowering the bullet-ridden targets and hoisting another set of unmarked ones in the process. Everyone turned their attention expectantly to the large screen hoisted above the announcer’s pedestal. Alexa stewed in quiet anxiety. She knew she had gotten seven out of ten; all that remained was to see if that was enough.

Finally the participant’s names appeared next to their corresponding score. Alexa found her name and verified the fact that she got seven, then swept up and down the screen to view the others. A large ten immediately caught her eye and she groaned as she read “Stark Maverick” to its left. She gritted her teeth and finished her inspection. Two boys got nine, one got eight and three others, including herself, got seven. Everyone else had six or below.

Alexa exhaled slowly. She had advanced.

“We have our winners for this round,” Guzman told the crowd. The names of the seven flashed obligatorily at his statement. “The Accepted first round will begin shortly. All competitors to the field.”

Alexa walked off with the others as the group of second-year students arrived to take their place. She caught Stark giving her a conceited smirk and deliberately focused her attention elsewhere.

The other advancers retreated to the shade of the tent, but Alexa continued onward; she didn’t want to be cooped up right now where the nerves of the other students would inevitably send her over the edge. Instead, she walked around the building to the double doors and went inside.

Cool air conditioning hit her as she walked in, making her feel slightly more comfortable—physically, anyway. She travelled down the corridor to the lavatory and ducked inside. She went over to the sink and turned on the water, then splashed some into her face. Beads of cool liquid slipped down her forehead and cheeks, ending at her chin where it dripped to the floor.

Alexa raised her head and looked into the mirror. The girl in front of her looked pale. _Just calm down. You can do this,_ she told her reflection. _Forget the spectators, the other contestants, forget the entire competition. It’s you and your gun, just practicing some shooting._

She stayed in the bathroom until the queasiness subsided and her breathing steadied to a normal calm rhythm. Giving her reflection one last nod, she decided to brave the outside once more.

xxxxx

The sun was high in the sky now, and long flat trails of cloud wandered across a hazy blue sky. Alexa hung out on the side of the field opposite the competitor’s tent, sitting against the perimeter wall with her eyes closed in an attempt to preserve her inner calm. She half paid attention to the score announcements, waiting for the set of first rounds to conclude. At last she heard Mr. Guzman calling for the Fodder contestants to report for the beginning of the next round.

Alexa pushed herself up. _Here we go._

The second round had a different set of parameters, this time with a focus on accuracy. From here on, all contestants would be shooting individually at a scattering of targets. Once a target was hit it would be replaced by another in a random location on the backdrop. Each person would receive eighteen bullets. The task was to hit as many of the targets as possible, and the three with the highest scores at the end would advance to the third and final round.

Alexa was fourth in line. She watched as the first contestant, a boy named Pette, got fourteen out of eighteen shots. The next two didn’t do as well as Pette, scoring nine and eleven respectably. Then came Alexa’s turn.

She was feeling pretty positive, her heart rate elevated but in control. She raised her pistol, thankful that her hands weren’t shaking like last time. She waited to begin, trying to hold back the anxiousness that wanted to crack her composure.

At the chime she fired and watched the target spin at the force of the bullet. A bloom of excitement spread through her head, but she pushed it away. Calm and focus. The target retreated and another took its place in the lower left area.  She took aim at another target. That too dropped to join its fellow. The pattern continued until the magazine clicked empty. At the end of her turn she had succeeded in hitting seventeen out of the eighteen targets.

Now that the round was over, she let out a sigh and then smiled hugely. _That was more like it!_ She had even earned a moderate applause from the spectators. She saw Stark staring at her and grinned at him, not being able to help but return the favor from earlier. Stark scowled and sauntered over to the line for his chance.

Alexa watched with increasing worry as Stark proceeded to knock off every single target. He quickly neared Alexa’s score and she thought he’d finish once more with perfect marks when his second-to-last bullet missed. Stark faltered a bit, his teeth clenched and brows furrowed in annoyance.  He hit the final target and returned to the line.

“Isn’t that lucky for you,” Stark sneered as he came to occupy the space to Alexa’s right.

Alexa pretended not to hear as she watched the next boy, Lial, step up and take his first shot. He was also pretty good. It looked like Lial was on the same lucky roll as Stark and Alexa, but towards the end he ended up missing three. Alexa couldn’t help but smile now. No matter what the next boy got, she was guaranteed to head to the finals.

The last competitor ended up with a final score of eleven, making the finalists Alexa, Stark, both with seventeen, and Lial, who had fifteen. The crowd cheered as the trio’s names were called. Alexa blushed with pride as she and the others left the field.

Finally having the guts to return to the tent, she noticed that it had gotten a lot less crowded. A few boys sat in chairs, all of them quietly concentrating on their inner thoughts and preparations. Alexa stepped lightly, not wanting to disturb them. There were no chairs left, so she sat on the ground in the far corner and closed her eyes.

She heard someone approach, feet crunching in the gravelly sand. Behind her closed lids she could sense a person standing in front of her. She opened her eyes and found Stark staring down at her. By the edge in his gaze he was done playing games.

“Stay out of my way, Spero,” Stark threatened in an undertone so the other occupants wouldn’t overhear. “If you think your life’s bad enough now, I would make it that much worse.”

“Are you telling me to forfeit or something? Because I won’t,” Alexa told him just as quietly. “I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“Oh, really?” Stark replied. The corner of his mouth twitched into a nasty expression. “I heard that your old man had to beg Shinra to let you attend.”

Dismayed, she stared back at him with wide eyes. How did he know that?

“Don’t you realize? You’re only here because the president wanted to be entertained by some scrawny girl disillusioned into thinking she could be good enough in a man’s world. If you had any sense at all you’d give up now. Run home to your daddy, Spero.”

Stark lingered a bit longer, savoring the effect his words had on his victim. “Fine, don’t leave just yet. You have some losing to do,” he told her before walking away.

Alexa spent the rest of her down time in restless silence, contemplating what Stark had said.


	5. A Prize and a Gift

All too soon Alexa, Lial and Stark were recalled to the field. As they came into view there was a smattering of applause over the general buzz of conversation. Alexa felt overwhelmed walking into the spotlight as she had during round one, and now with only three contestants left even more eyes watched her. The Fodder marched to the center of the field, where they stood in a line deliberately ignoring one another. Before them a table laden with pre-filled magazines stood. The mechanized target stand had been set to a different mode, and now targets were rearranged in a haphazard fashion unequal distances above ground and from each other.

“For the final round, the name of the game is agility,” Mr. Guzman’s booming voice announced over the loud speaker. “You will have sixty seconds to hit as many targets as you can. Additional ammunition has been provided for you. Once a target is hit, it will drop and be replaced by another in a different location. Stark Maverick, you will shoot first. Good luck contestants.”

Stark stepped up to the line, slamming a magazine into place. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his neck until his vertebrae popped. Once he raised his weapon at the ready, the chime sounded.

The boy made quick work of the targets in front of him. To Alexa, it seemed like Stark’s strategy was to shoot as many rounds as possible and hope to hit something, but it quickly became apparent that he had to be aiming as the targets fell in quick succession. He reloaded twice before the final chime. When it was all over, he gave the pistol a quick spin in his hand before jamming it into his belt. The screen showed a large number twenty-one as Stark’s final score. The crowd cheered at the performance and he waved cockily before strolling back to where his competitors waited.

“And that’s how you do it,” he told Alexa and Lial smugly. It was as if he’d had already clinched the win.

Lial was next. He looked a little nervous, but his gait was steady as he walked to the line. He raised his pistol with a critical eye towards the targets. At the chime he began to shoot. It was hard to tell whether he was nervous or was trying to emulate Stark, but Lial was shooting far too fast to aim properly before firing. He missed a few in a row, which made him increasingly frustrated. His fingers bobbled the magazine as he reloaded, eating up precious time. At the end of thirty seconds he only managed to hit twelve. Lial stepped away, aggravated and muttering to himself.

Then it was Alexa’s turn. Stark had set an impressive standard of twenty-one and Alexa knew she’d be hard-pressed to beat it. Guzman called Alexa’s name and she stepped forward. She positioned herself to the right of the table with the extra supply of ammunition; her small stature actually allowed her fingers to brush the line of magazines if she lowered her arm. Not having to bend over to reload would be an advantage. Her fingers flexed in anticipation as she drew in a deep breath. This was it.

The calm came to her like mist settling over a meadow before dawn, erasing from her mind the anxiety and doubt Stark had caused earlier. She barricaded herself from all extraneous sights and sounds until she was alone in the tiny shooting range in the Academy basement. Her lips stretched into a tiny smile of contentment. Alexa raised the pistol, training the weapon at the upper left target. Her vision retracted until there was nothing in existence except for the gun in her hand and the collection of bull’s-eyes fifty feet away.

The world was utterly still as she waited. Then from beyond the void she perceived the sound of a start chime. Instantaneously Alexa’s finger came to life on the trigger, and she fired in rapid succession at each presenting target. She kept track of the rounds, so when the final bullet left the chamber she immediately dropped the empty magazine, letting it fall to the ground as she snatched up a new one and rammed it into place. Then the pistol was up and firing once more. Alexa had used two of the spare magazines by the time the chime sounded again.

It took a few long seconds before her arms slowly lowered. She took a few breaths, wondering if she had even breathed during that seemingly timeless stretch of shooting. Then suddenly the sound switched back on and she thought the entire world was screaming.

Panicked, Alexa gave a small jump before realizing the crowds weren’t exactly screaming—they were cheering. For her. She looked up in time to see her score flashing on the screen along with her name and let out a disbelieving laugh. Twenty-two. She had won by one point.

Mr. Guzman had left the podium to come shake her hand as the crowd clapped and cheered, then indicated she should go back to the contestant’s tent. As she walked off, Lial came over give her a sportsmanlike handshake. Stark was nowhere to be found.

By this point the contestant’s area had been cleared out. Those eliminated had been forced to leave, and the students still in the competition were sitting on the sidelines to watch the next round of finals. There was, however, a single person still in the tent. An adult she had never seen before stood near the entrance, watching the proceedings on the field with a sharp set of steel grey eyes. He turned that gaze on her as she neared. Alexa planned on skirting around the man and heading to the water cooler, but when she crossed the entryway he spoke.

“Well done. That was some decent shooting for someone your age.”

Alexa was startled to receive a compliment from a total stranger, and blushed when her brain comprehended his meaning. He had said “For someone”, not “for a girl”. She looked more carefully at the man. He was of medium height with a small mustache, flecked with grey like his hair. The pin on his breast identified him as a Shinra Academy employee, but he wasn’t wearing the standard uniform the other instructors wore. Who was this man?

He raised an eyebrow at her and realizing she hadn’t yet responded Alexa blurted out a “Thank you, sir.” The man continued to watch Alexa. Even though he did not take his eyes off her, he seemed aware of every detail of his surroundings. Alexa stared straight back, knowing she was being rude but unable to draw her focus away while he stared at her like that.

Eventually the man lowered his eyes and the spell was over. Alexa shuffled away to grab some water and then sank into one of the empty chairs, trying to ignore the man. The water tasted fabulous. She hadn’t realized how parched her throat was. Had it been that way since she left the field, or did it dry out when she entered the tent?

The shouts of the spectators brought back the electrical thrill of what she just accomplished. She felt giddy. She did it! She beat Stark and won!But it dawned on her that she wasn’t finished yet. Alexa had been so focused on getting this far that she hadn’t given thought to the championship round. Her stomach began to tighten again with the thought of having to go back out there.

 _At least I’ve gotten this far. It doesn’t really matter if I win or not,_ she reasoned. But deep down Alexa knew she’d love to take the whole tournament.

The roaring noise from the crowd crescendoed as another finalist was determined. Was it the third years' turn now, or had she missed a round? Eventually two boys walked into the tent. One boy with a crazy mop of golden curls was jumping up and down in excitement, shaking his companion’s shoulders. Alexa recognized the other boy all too well, and at his arrival she wanted to sink into the chair and disappear.

“Dude, you totally owned! No competition whatsoever,” the curly-haired one was spouting animatedly.

“Calm down, Drake,” the other boy told his friend, though he sounded very pleased. The pair stopped near the water cooler for refreshments. Alexa stared at the ground, pretending her hardest to be invisible. It didn’t work.

“Speaking of competition,” the boy named Drake added. “Look who we have here. Alexa Spero, right?”

Hearing her name, she knew it was no use ignoring them. Alexa raised her eyes to the two boys. The way his eyebrow raised, raven-haired boy definitely recognized her.

“Not bad, Fodder,” Drake continued. He said the word lightheartedly, like a teasing nickname rather than the insult used by most upperclassmen. “I thought that one kid, the whitish-blond one, was gonna have an aneurism when you beat him. By one point too! Ha! I’m glad you won, he looked like a prick. Anyway,” he turned to his friend and continued talking without a pause, “Let’s go watch the final matchup. I bet you twenty gil Mullein has it.”

The boys walked out of the competitor’s area without a backwards glance. The encounter made her adrenaline spike, leaving her restless. Not wanting to be alone for once, Alexa left the tent shortly after, deciding to catch the last round as well. The man from before had mysteriously disappeared but Alexa, caught up in the excitement, didn’t notice.

Alex found a vacant spot on the end of a nearby bleacher and proceeded to watch the competition. As Drake had predicted, a boy called Dennis Mullein bested his opponents by a three point margin and was declared the winner of the fourth year Doyens, as well as the last tournament finalist.

There was a short break while the preparations were completed for the championship round. All around her students were laughing and taking bets on who was going to be the tournament champion. For Alexa the time went by both agonizingly slow and too fast to comprehend. She soon found herself standing in loose circle with the other three contenders.

Guzman stepped up to the megaphone and raised his hand for silence. “And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” he shouted. A loud storm of applause greeted his words. “I give you your finalists. From the Doyen class, Dennis Mullein.”

The oldest boy waved a hand at the spectators, flashing a smile. Up close, Alexa thought his long wavy brown hair looked amazing paired with his tanned, muscular arms. She shook her head and blushed, embarrassed by her wayward thoughts when she should be concentrating on the trial before her.

“From the Initiate class, Vincent Valentine.”

Alexa stared as the raven-haired boy raised a hand and acknowledged the crowd with a solemn expression.

 _So that’s his name,_ Alexa thought in bemusement. He hadn’t seemed two years older when they first met, but now that she was standing next to him, ready to face off in a shooting match, he felt many more years her senior. She felt like a little girl who had accidently wandered onto the field whilst the instructors were distracted. She reminded herself that she was supposed to be there.

“From the Accepted class, Maiki Choi,” Guzman continued. A boy who looked vaguely Wutain saluted the crowd.

At last it was Alexa’s turn and she squirmed as all eyes turned expectantly to the remaining finalist.

“And from the Fodder class, Alexa Spero.” Alexa waved uneasily to the crowd. Today had brought her more attention than she wanted to receive in a whole year.

 “Good luck.”

Alexa turned to her left and saw Vincent staring at her. She blinked and then gave a nervous smile. “You too… though I think I’ll be needing it more.” That got him to smile a bit.

“Precision is the key for the championship round, gentlemen and lady. Each ring on the target has a corresponding point value. The outer ring is two points, the second is five, the third is ten, and if you hit the bull’s-eye you’ll earn a whopping twenty-five. You will only receive six shots. The finalist with the highest score at the end will be declared champion,” Guzman told the four contestants and the riled spectators. “Spero, please advance to the line.”

 _Let’s get this over with._ Alexa stepped forward as commanded. Like before, she tuned out everything from the outside world, focusing all thought to the task at hand. She channeled peace and serenity and felt nothing in return but calm assurance. Then she raised her pistol and fired.

The first bullet made a hole in the middle of the third ring. Ten points. She fired again and narrowly missed the same ring, adding only five to her score.

 _Steady,_ floated across her calm mental landscape.

She pulled the trigger for a third time. A hole appeared within the innermost circle. Her next bullet hit a space close by. Another bull’s-eye. Alexa waited until the slight wave of excitement settled before aiming again. This time she nicked the edge of the inner ring, barely missing another twenty-five points.

 _Last one,_ Alexa told herself. _Make it a good one._ She fired for the sixth time. The bullet hit dead center. This added another good dose the tally, making her total score ninety-five.

Her job done, Alexa exhaled heavily. The rest was up to fate. A clamor of polite claps and cheers followed her as she walked over to the bleachers, where the bottommost bench was reserved for the finalists.

Maiki was up next. The Accepted started out as Alexa had with a ten. He hit the inner ring once more, doubling his score, and then hit two bull’s-eyes in a row. Alexa feared the Accepted would soon surpass her own score, but he didn’t manage to hit the center circle again. His total was ninety points.

 _I’m actually winning,_ Alexa thought, feeling duly impressed with herself. Maiki came to sit at the bench as the next finalist stepped up to the line. Alexa’s confidence faded as she viewed Vincent’s casual, self-assured stance.

At the chime he began to fire with a steady, stone-cool concentration. The bullets sailed without pause to the target. Each one met the bull’s-eye dead on. Alexa and the rest of the spectators in the crowd watched with mounting excitement as Vincent racked up twenty-five points one after another. His last shot rang out across the field and the bullet flew though the target’s center where a larger hole had been created from the previous rounds.

A perfect score.

The roar was deafening as Vincent made his way across the field. Alexa felt extremely inadequate as he sat down a little farther down from her. He looked over as Alexa’s brain was still attempting to get her mouth to close. She shut it with a snap, blushing.

“That was amazing,” she expressed, trying to pitch her voice over the excited crowd, who was shouting to Vincent. He gave a shrug, crossing his arms as he turned to watch the final contestant.

 _Was that self-assurance, or was he just being modest?_ It was hard to tell. Alexa cocked her head and looked at him a moment longer before turning her attention back to the field.

The Doyen Mullein was standing at the ready, his form completely still. Then the starting bell rang and he immediately took a shot. Bull’s-eye. He shot a few more times, each bullet hitting the inner circle.

It looked like there was another perfect score in tow and the two finalists would have a face-off. Then on his fifth round the shot went wide, hitting the inner ring. Ten points were added to the score instead of twenty-five. Mullein was beat and he knew it. To his credit he didn’t let his emotions show as he lined up his pistol for his final shot. Another ten points.

The round concluded and the crowd lurched to their feet, chanting Vincent’s name. Caught up in the excitement, Alexa found herself joining in.

Mr. Guzman came walking out to the field with another man unknown to Alexa. He was a hefty and dressed in a dark, pin-striped business suit. His appearance alone would have been intimidating, but there was something else she couldn’t name that gave the man an aura of power.

Guzman called for the finalists to join them.

“Shinra Academy!” Guzman announced to the cheering crowd when the four arrived. “I give you your champion, Vincent Valentine!” He took Vincent’s hand and raised it to the sky. “And here to present the awards is our esteemed Director of Shinra Academy, Mr. Shawn Gradern.”

 _The Director_ , Alexa repeated to herself, feeling a little in awe. She had been here over three months and hadn’t once laid eyes on this man. Alexa watched as Director Gradern handed Vincent a considerably large golden trophy. At its base was the Shinra Company’s logo emblazoned on each of the four sides, and gilded handgun that was very intricately carved perched on top.

Vincent nodded with a small, respectful smile to the Director, thanking him for the reward. The young man was taking his victory very reservedly, which was more than would have been said for the majority of today’s competitors.

“You put on quite a show, Mr. Valentine,” the man replied. Unlike Guzman’s voice, the Director sounded every inch the strong commanding individual he looked. “You are certainly upholding the reputation of this Academy.”

“Thank you, sir,” Vincent said, his polite smile again not quite reaching his dark eyes.

After awarding the tournament champion, Director Gradern continued down the line handing out medals for the other finalists. Alexa was short enough that she didn’t need to bow her head when the medal was presented to her. It felt heavy dangling from her neck.

“It appears I’ll have to keep an eye on you as well, Ms. Spero,” Gradern mentioned before heading on to Choi. 

With the ceremony concluded, the stands slowly began to empty. Alexa wanted to congratulate Vincent, but a large number of boys from the stands had already surrounded him, calling out words of admiration and reaching to pat him on the back or hold the trophy. A little put out, she decided to head into the building. Along the way Alexa got a few congratulations of her own, which made her very pleased. Not only was she a finalist, but she managed to come in third!

Alexa made it back to the comfort and solitude of her room. It had been an emotionally trying day and she was exhausted. Now that she was alone, Alexa took off the medal for a more thorough examination. It was gold with the diamond shaped Shinra logo on one side and the words “Shinra Academy Shooting Tournament Finalist” on the other. She ogled at it for a minute, and then walked over to place it on her shelf. A rectangular wrapped bundle was sitting in the middle of the desk.

“What’s this?” she asked, surprised to see a strange object in her room. Alexa set her medal down and touched the bundle. Her name, room number and the shipping directions to the Academy were written neatly on the top. She had never gotten a package or mail of any kind here. She snatched the bundle and flopped down on her bed. The brown paper was ripped off and thrown aside before she stopped bouncing.

It turned out to be a leather-tied tome an inch thick. Her hand traced the swirls of Cetran symbols painted on the cover. After searching the wrappings more carefully this time, she found a folded piece of paper. She straightened the paper out and found a letter addressed to her. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she recognized the all-too-familiar handwriting.

> _My Dearest Alexa,_
> 
> _This is the first copy of my completed manuscript. I wish that you take care of it for me. It is the translation of a very old poetic composition, unique in the regard that it is the only known tragedy written by the Ancients._
> 
> _Your presence is missed every day, and my mind oft plays tricks, making me hear your sweet voice calling from the next room or your soft steps in the library. I know you are trying your hardest and I hope you understand that no matter what you do, I shall never stop having the utmost faith in you._
> 
> _You make me so proud, my daughter. Never forget how much I love you._
> 
> _Theodore Spero_

Alexa reread the letter, feeling like her father was there in the room with her. She couldn’t believe he had given her the original copy.

She opened the cover and turned to the first page. In elegant calligraphy were the words “ _Loveless, a Cetran Tragedy.”_ In a smaller script in the bottom corner was the phrase, _“Translated by Professor Theodore Spero.”_

Carefully folding the letter, she tucked it in the back of the book for safekeeping. She placed the invaluable object down long enough to kick off her shoes and then nestled into her pillows, propping the book on her knees. Alexa was exhausted, but she wouldn’t give a second thought to going to bed until she read the first act.


	6. Fight!

The main topic of conversation the following week was the shooting tournament. It was a rarity for an Initiate beat out a Doyen in the championships, but it was nothing compared to a finalist getting a perfect score. That feat was unheard of.

Alexa was personally benefiting from the tournament. She had gained a tentative purchase on her peer’s respect, and people were taking notice of her now instead of writing her off at first glance. Even Stark was different. Instead of acting on his threat from the tournament, Stark and his gang had ignored Alexa during all their classes. This initially made Alexa nervous; were they trying to lull her into a false sense of security? But as the days passed there was no sign of any evil plot, so Alexa began to walk more confidently through the Academy corridors.

Class had ended for the day and she had decided to spend an hour in the shooting range. Alexa hadn’t been down to the basement since prior to the competition, but after the few days of mental recuperation from the strenuous ordeal she felt rejuvenated and rearing to have a gun in her hand. When she approached the thick glass doors of the range, the first thing she saw was the boy who had won the tournament the week before.

 _Vincent Valentine_ , Alexa mentally corrected now that she had learned his name. She hesitated outside the glass door, retracting her hand from where it hovered above the door’s control panel. The older boy was oblivious to everything in his surroundings except his target.

During the tournament Alexa had been too nervous to watch the other rounds properly and too relieved at the end of her own participation to fully appreciate his talent when they faced off in the final match. But now that she could devote her entire attention, Alexa had to admit he wasreally good, practically a prodigy.

She watched Vincent with rapt attention. He was so focused, almost like he _willed_ the bullets to hit their mark, yet completely relaxed at the same time. Alexa longed to master a handgun like that. She could practically see him in the Turk’s special blue suit. She wasn’t sure that was his chosen profession, but what else _could_ he be with a talent like that?

Minutes ticked by, and the only change occurred when Vincent stopped shooting long enough to reload. Alexa didn’t know how long she was crouching near the shadow of the entranceway—it must have been a while, since her feet her feet were tingling from lack of proper blood circulation—when she heard someone approaching. Alexa jerked into a standing position, but she couldn’t make up her mind whether to enter the room or not.

She was still in that frantic “caught rabbit” pose when who else but Stark appeared around the corner with three of his gang members in tow.

“Wow, she was easy to find,” Rhodes, the biggest kid in Alexa’s year and official “muscle” of Stark’s posse, commented. He cracked his knuckles in a threatening manner.

“Where else would she be? It’s not like she’s got any friends,” Stark replied.

Stark, Flynn and Jakob advanced a couple steps while Rhodes retreated to the corner of the hall. He was obviously assigned to be the lookout. The other two boys stood on either side of their leader with arms crossed, but Stark had one hand secured behind his back.

For a moment Alexa thought Stark was going to draw a gun, so she was confused when he revealed a book. Then comprehension dawned.

 “Look what I found lying around,” Stark said, holding the book up so Alexa could see. The green and silver Cetran symbols on the cover shimmered under the bright mako lightning.

“Give it to me,” Alexa said, her insides beginning to smolder with rage. She knew she had locked her door when she left. Stark had broken into her room and stolen her father’s work.

“I told you to run back to your dear old daddy, but you didn’t listen. Well, here are the consequences.” Stark opened the front cover and in a single fluid motion tore out the first page.

Alexa had never been so angry in her life. Before she knew it she was charging forward.  Stark’s smirk had only a second to shift into a look of alarm before Alexa plowed into him. She must have caught all of the boys off-guard, since Flynn and Jakob paused a moment in shock before reacting. With her speed and Stark’s laxity, Alexa actually succeeded in toppling the heavier boy. She fell on top of him, flailing in an attempt to hit whatever she could reach.

Someone grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her off Stark, then pinned her arms behind her. It must have been Flynn, since Jakob was in front of her with murder in his eyes.

“Stop!” Stark snapped at his friends. He pushed himself to his feet and then paused to press the back of his hand against his lower lip. Alexa had actually drawn blood. The other boys made a noise to dissent, but then stopped when Stark glared. “Stand down. This bitch is mine.”

Alexa felt the grip on her arms loosen and she yanked herself free. “You son of a-!” she shouted in outrage, but Stark cut her off with a fist flying straight at her face. Adrenaline fueled her reflexes, allowing her to dodge and strike at his stomach. At contact, a fiery pain exploded through her hand and she let out a cry. Something had broken.

Stark took advantage of her distraction and caught her upper arm. He swung her almost three hundred and sixty degrees before letting go. Alexa slammed hard into the wall and crumbled to the floor, the wind knocked out of her. Stark marched over and planted a kick in her side and Alexa cried out in pain, desperately wishing she was anywhere else but the end of an obscure hallway belowground with no one to help.

“Will you ever learn?” Stark asked with a cruel laugh.

Alexa curled in on herself, trying to brace herself for the next attack. Stark’s boot swung backward in preparation for another kick and Alexa squeezed her eyes shut, readying for more agony.

Suddenly, she heard the quick race of footsteps, and Stark let out an audible “Umph!” followed by shouts from Jakob. Something heavy crashed to the floor.

Alexa warily opened her eyes.

Stark was grappling on the ground with Vincent. The other boys didn’t know whether to intervene or not. Meanwhile, Rhodes had scampered over to the brawl, ready to jump in at the command. As Alexa watched, the fighting boys sprung up simultaneously, vying for the advantage as began to circle each other, occasionally swapping punches.

“Leave, Valentine,” Stark growled. The boy was inhaling and exhaling loudly and beads of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. “This isn’t your fight.”

Vincent’s eyelids lowered as he stared unflinchingly back at his opponent. He too was breathing heavily, yet he exhibited the same focus as when he was shooting. “Four against one? That hardly seems fair.”

Stark was hardly enthusiastic about fighting a boy two years older than him, but now his reputation was at stake. With a growl he rushed forward. Vincent dodged an uppercut to his head and jabbed at Stark’s collarbone. He didn’t do enough damage to break the bone, but the force caused Stark to reflexively arc downwards, throwing him off balance. Vincent went in for another punch, but Stark managed to block the attack.

The older boy would have eventually won the fight, but the numbers set against Alexa were the same for Vincent. While Vincent’s back was to Jakob, the other boy went for his throat. Thick fingers wrapped around Vincent’s neck and his eyes bulged in shock. He tried to twist away, but Jakob’s held him in a choking hold.

“I told you to stay out of it, Jakob!” Stark roared to his friend, who was too incensed to think clearly. Vincent meanwhile had begun to wheeze, still trying to escape the boy’s grip as he gasped for breath. Jakob gave his leader a long look before complying, regretfully letting Vincent go with a shove. Vincent stumbled and Stark rocketed a fist into his stomach. The older boy collapsed to the floor.

Before anyone could stop her, Alexa sprinted forward and planted a kick to the back of Stark’s knees. His legs buckled and he fell on his knees next to Vincent.

Alexa was just about to kick him again when someone shouted, “STOP!” Her foot hovering in the air, she stared open-mouthed at a livid faced Mr. Tucker.

She was horrified. _Of course_ the sounds of the fight would carry down these long bare corridors. _Of course_ Rhodes had to abandon his post to watch the fight instead of keeping an eye out for trouble. And who else would find them but the first years’ advisor.

“Get up,” Mr. Tucker stated in an overly calm voice. He was struggling not to yell, as indicated by his reddening face.

Vincent and Stark stumbled to their feet, not looking at each other.

“You three,” he said, pointing to Stark, Alexa and Vincent, “come with me. The rest of you get back to your dormitory. I don’t want to see any of you out of your rooms for the rest of the day.”

Alexa wanted to argue against the complete lack of justice that the other boys got off so easily, but the prospects of her own fate troubled her far more. Mr. Tucker waited until he made sure the three named delinquents were following before turning to march up the hallway. Alexa brought up the rear, feeling miserable.

The trip lasted an eternity. The only noise in the endless hallways was their footsteps on the tiled floor. Alexa wished one of them would break the silence that was going to drive her insane. Up and up they went, every so often passing other students who stared curiously at the odd procession. Alexa blushed and tried to hide her face with her long brown hair, but it was that same feature that would be sure to get her recognized.

Alexa had never been this high in the building. The hallways became carpeted and rich red paint colored the usually white walls. Even the lighting seemed improved. She assumed they were up in the administrative level, which meant one thing: Mr. Tucker was taking them to see the Director.

The instructor finally stopped at an elaborately-carved wooden door, where he turned to look at them.

“Sit,” Mr. Tucker said, indicating the chairs lining both sides of the hallway.

Absently, Alexa wondered how often these seats were used. Surely there were not many students crazy enough to pull a stunt that would get them sent here. Alexa gulped. They were dead meat.

 “You know, Missy,” Alexa’s advisor said to her, “if men are going to fight over a woman, usually the woman doesn’t hop in the fray. I would have kept out of it if I were you.” 

 _That’s_ what he thought this was about? Alexa had used up her store of anger for today; she merely looked at him with poorly disguised disgust. Tucker gave them all a quick once-over to make sure they wouldn’t resume fighting, and then knocked on the door. A gruff voice barked at him to enter.

“Stay here until you’re called for,” he said gravely before opening the door and entering the office of Shinra Academy Director Gradern.


	7. On The Chopping Block

Alexa decided if they had to wait any longer the anticipation would kill her before the head of the Academy could. Mr. Tucker had gone into the office and left shortly afterwards, not giving any instructions or even a glance at them. His departure had been at least ten minutes ago.

Her head was pounding furiously where she had contacted the wall and her stomach hurt from the kicks Stark had given her. She was trying not to look at her thumb, which had swollen twice its size and was turning a deep purple, but the unceasing throb made it hard to ignore.

Hoping to distract herself from the pain, Alexa’s eyes wandered over to the two boys who were waiting with her in the hallway. Vincent was sitting in the next seat over, leaning his head against the wall with his eyes closed. There were angry red streaks along Vincent’s neck from where Jakob tried to strangle him. Alexa spitefully wished that boy was up here too.

Of the three students Tucker had taken, Stark looked the worst off. His lip had split open and a bloody smear colored his chin. His left eye was puffy and bruised, and Alexa was unsure if it had been she or Vincent who had hit him before deciding the latter was most likely.

If she wasn’t in so much trouble right now, Alexa would be impressed with herself. That had been the first time she had fought back, and all things considered she thought she had done moderately well.

 _But don’t forget, you’d be zolom food if Vincent hadn’t arrived,_ she reminded herself.

Now that she thought about it, she was astounded the older boy had come to her aid. He could have easily pretended not to notice the fight; it was amazing he managed to hear them through the shooting range’s thick glass doors at all. It wasn’t like they had said more than a handful of words to each other during the tournament, and any aggressive behavior outside class was strictly forbidden at the Academy. Why had Vincent put his neck on the line for her, literally and figuratively?

“What’s with that look, Spero?” Stark asked, finally breaking the silence of the hallway. “We’re about to get chewed out by the Director and you’re over there looking like you’re contemplating the meaning of life.”

Stark’s normally cool, haughty attitude had dissipated somewhat. He liked causing trouble, but now that he was on the chopping block he was sweating. It was a bad time for it, but she could still appreciate the subtle change in her adversary. If only he had been knocked off his high horse sooner, so wouldn’t have been as afraid of him. She looked over at Vincent. He alone appeared cool and composed.

“Hello, I’m talking to you. Are you brain dead?”

“No thanks to you,” Alexa retorted. She resisted the urge to touch the tender part of her head, which hurt worse now that she was paying attention to it.

There was silence for a minute afterwards. Stark began to fidget, tapping his fingertips against his thighs. Unconsciously, Alexa began to squirm as well before she realized it and forced her body to stop.

“Can you cut that out,” Alexa asked in a near-civilized tone. Stark was going to make her climb up the wall soon.

Stark scowled. “What do you want me to do? Most people can’t take a nap at a time like this like Valentine here.”

Her eyes flicked over to the boy at her side. Vincent showed no response. _Was_ he sleeping? Whether he was or not, Alexa was extremely impressed by his outer calm.

“You must have heard about Gradern,” Stark said in a lower voice. His nerves were loosening his tongue rather than any temporary feelings of solidarity. “He was a general in Shinra’s military before retiring. He has a reputation for being a harsh, merciless bastard.”

As if scared the Director was listening at that moment, Stark leaned forward to speak in an undertone and Alexa found herself leaning closer to hear. “And the Director… his name is an anagram for ‘danger’.”

Her eyes widened, feeling even more scared of the man behind the dark wooden door.

“Wait… no it isn’t. There’s an extra ‘r’,” she said uncertainly, switching the letters around in her mind.

Stark shrugged. He leaned back, raising his arms to lace his fingers behind his head and leaned back.

 “It also spells ‘garden’,” spoke Vincent, so unexpectedly that Alexa jumped a bit. She stared at him. Vincent raised his eyelids and gave a serious look with his dark eyes. “Without the extra ‘r,’ of course.”

Alexa didn’t know whether to laugh or not. She had been convinced he hadn’t been paying the least bit of attention to them.

The Academy Director’s door finally opened and the students quickly stood. Vincent squared his shoulders and walked in. Stark, refusing to follow behind a girl, hastily went in behind the older boy with Alexa forced to take up the rear.

_Well, here we go._

Alexa’s hands shook as she stood facing a large mahogany desk. She pressed her hands to her thighs to stop the sign of nervousness and raised her eyes to meet the head of Shinra Academy.

Director Gradern was a formidable man in all respects. His thick muscular build and tall frame spoke of physical power, but his stern face and sharp calculating eyes were evidence of a sharp mind as well. Gradern’s presence had a detrimental effect on friend and foe alike, and the three students before him were no exception. Alexa had seen him at the tournament, but that short encounter didn’t seem to have prepared her now that she was standing before him to be reprimanded. The man was seated at his desk, yet somehow he still seemed to look down upon them.

“Unauthorized brawls are not permitted within the complex. This was made perfectly clear to each of you when you enrolled.” His words were punctuated and deadly clear. Gradern looked at each of them. “Was it not?”

“Yes, sir,” the three said simultaneously.

Gradern leaned back and the chair groaned. “Now, I don’t care about who initiated the fight, nor the cause of it. Both are irrelevant. You broke the rules and now you will each receive punishment in accordance with those rules. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is a warning: consider yourselves grateful that you are still attending this institution. However, if you place another toe out of line then you will be dumped off the property before the rest of your foot has touched the ground.”

Alexa tried to swallow, but her throat was so parched she couldn’t complete the action and nearly choked. At least they weren’t going to be expelled. Somehow that wasn’t much of a comfort.

“Now, proceed to the medical quarters for evaluation. You will receive the details of your punishment first thing in the morning. Your instructors will be notified of your absence from classes tomorrow. That is all.” With that, Gradern turned his attention to a stack of papers on his desk.

Effectively dismissed, Alexa followed the other two out of the office. The door closed behind them with a loud click.

“We’re still alive.” Alexa didn’t know she spoke the thought aloud until Vincent gave a slight grunt of a laugh.

“For now. Who knows what they’re going to make us do tomorrow,” Stark commented. Then as if he finally realized who he had been talking to, the boy’s platinum-blond eyebrows drew together and he gave Alexa a disgusted look. “I’m done with you two. Later— _much_.” With that, he stomped down the hall.

Alexa sighed, feeling exhausted. If she hadn’t just been ordered to the medical quarters, she would have headed straight to her room to sleep.

“Are you alright?” Alexa head Vincent ask.

She turned to him and nodded with a forced smile. “I’ll be okay. How about you?”

“I’ve had worse.”

Not wanting to linger near the ominous threshold of the Director’s office any longer, they walked away in silence. Alexa hoped she would never have to come here again in her life.

The medical ward was a bright, sterile environment on the ground floor of one of the Academy’s auxiliary buildings. Alexa had received many injuries during her short school career, but none had been severe enough to warrant a trip here.

A medic looked over her injuries with brusque indifference. He had given her an ice pack for her head and would have sent her on her way if it weren’t for her thumb. The digit in question was now so swollen and hard she could hardly move it. Alexa was ordered to sit on a padded table while he sent for a low-grade Cure materia.

Alexa wondered in uncomfortable ignorance what her punishment would consist of. Her first response to the fact that she wasn’t expelled had been pure relief. But now she was even more nervous than before. When she misbehaved as a child, her father would simply give her a time-out. What would happen here? Certainly not some alone time in a corner. Her mind ran wild with scenarios. Would they make her run laps until she fainted, or wash every lavatory with a toothbrush? Or would they just chain her in the dungeon and whip her? Alexa didn’t think the Academy had a dungeon, so the last one was out at least.

 _It would be so much fairer if Stark’s gang was punished too,_ thought Alexa. _Why did Mr. Tucker take only half of us? Even if the others didn’t jump in the fight, they were just as involved._

The entire situation was strange. If Stark’s information about the Director being so strict was true, why had they not been thrown out? Even with the unknown punishment in store for them, they seemed to have gotten off easily. Alexa sighed. She wished she had gotten a chance to explain herself. Stark would be in a lot deeper trouble had Director Gradern found out about Stark’s breaking and entering, not to mention stealing and ripping her book. It was still lying somewhere on the basement floor, as long as Stark’s gang hadn’t taken it. The mental image was heartbreaking. And now she couldn’t go back and tell Gradern without looking like a pathetic tattletale.

A woman in clean white scrubs entered her room carrying a green semi-transparent orb. If Alexa was expecting compassionate treatment, she was immediately proven wrong.

“Well, let’s see it then,” the nurse stated as she reached Alexa. Alexa gingerly held up her injured thumb. The woman examined the finger, making a “tsk-tsk” sound before placing the materia on the bruised skin. “Cure,” the woman said in a strong voice.

Growing up in a small rural town, Alexa had seen materia being used only two or three times, and never on herself. Now, she watched a the crystallized mako burst to life upon command, casting a bright green light that made her skin seem to glow. No, her skin was actually glowing! Her whole thumb was bathed in an intense light and she felt a burst of energy seeping through her. The only way she could describe what the magic felt like was comparing it to the sun’s rays, except without the heat. Her explanation sounded strange even to herself, but before she could come up with a better description the sensation faded.

“You’re lucky to get a materia treatment; the few materia we have are reserved for emergencies, so very few students get healed with them.” The woman placed the now-dull orb in the special container, wrapping it in plastic so it wouldn’t shatter. “The second phalanx was fractured, but that would’ve healed in time with a brace. But orders are orders.”

 _I guess they want me healed for whatever I’m supposed to do tomorrow,_ Alexa assumed. She flexed her thumb experimentally. There was no pain, nor any sign that the digit was ever damaged.

“Refrain from punching people anymore, especially if you don’t know how,” the nurse said and then waved her out the door.

She was incredibly surprised to find Vincent leaning against the wall when she exited the medial quarters.

“Hey Vincent,” Alexa called in a soft voice. “Did you get cleared by the medic yet?” _Of course he did, idiot,_ she mentally berated herself. _Why else do you think he’s out here and not still inside?_

The boy nodded in confirmation and then pushed himself off the wall. “Here,” Vincent said, reaching out to hand something to her. “I believe this is yours.”

Alexa gasped in surprise. It was her book! She took it from the boy, relieved the precious gift from her father was safely back in her possession. The binding was loose, but the torn page had been reinserted and her letter was still tucked in the back, undisturbed.

She looked up into Vincent’s face, tears of gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you so much. I was afraid the others had destroyed it after Mr. Tucker took us.”

“I went back to the range and found it on the floor. It looks like everyone forgot about it,” Vincent explained. Then he looked down and asked, “How’s your thumb?”

“Good as new,” Alexa replied. “I was stupid. The nurse said I don’t know how to punch.”

Vincent’s face twisted into an expression of amusement. “Show me how you punched him.”

Alexa looked around the empty hallway. “Are you sure? What if someone saw, after we just got out of the Director’s office?”

“No one’s here,” he said calmly. “Show me what your hand looked like.”

Alexa hesitated before setting the book gently on the ground and curling her fingers into a fist. She raised her hand, letting Vincent see.

“You have your thumb on the inside. You should wrap it across the bottom of your fingers, or else you’ll break it when you punch. Here.” Vincent took her thumb and carefully adjusted it so it rested between the first and second knuckles on her index and middle fingers, out of the way of any direct contact. “And you need to make sure your wrist is always aligned with your arm,” he added, raising her fist a bit so her whole arm was in a straight line.

She looked at her hand from different angles until she was sure she could recreate the positioning, and then took a hesitant punch through the air. Vincent observed her and then nodded. “Not bad. But I would stick to a pistol for now.”

“What, Turks don’t fight with their fists?” she asked, jabbing the air once more.

Vincent gave a small grin. “They do, but I wouldn’t put my gun away just so I could hit a guy with my bare hand.”

Alexa laughed and added, “Unless you had brass knuckles on or something.”

The conversation lapsed into silence. Alexa bent down to retrieve her book, dusting the dirt off the back cover. “Thanks for coming to help me,” she expressed after a bit, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble, but still I really appreciated it.”

Vincent shook his head. “You didn’t get me in trouble; it was my decision to fight. Besides, it might have been a good thing we were caught, before things got ugly.”

“What do you mean?”

The boy crossed his arms, looking perturbed. “I saw the tall, bulky one trying to get into the shooting range. It looked like he was trying to get a pistol.”

Alexa’s mouth dropped. “Rhodes? But, but that’s crazy! Why would he have tried something that stupid?!” she exclaimed.

“Boys don’t usually act rationally in a fight,” Vincent told her with a small wry smile.

“You didn’t seem too crazy.”

Vincent shrugged off the compliment. “I locked the door before I jumped Stark, just in case. Nothing would have happened,” he continued. “If weapons were involved Gradern would have had no choice but to expel us all. The ones who were left alive, anyway.”

Something clicked in Alexa’s mind. “That’s why Mr. Tucker only took three of us. The more people involved, the more serious the Director would have to take it.”

“Tucker was actually doing us a favor,” Vincent agreed with a nod.

Alexa’s head was beginning to spin at the implications. “Wow, this is complicated.”

“You’re handling it well,” Vincent told her, and Alexa blushed at the unexpected praise. Then he looked at the watch on his wrist. “I have to go. Rest up for tomorrow. And don’t worry, the punishment shouldn’t be as bad as you’re imagining.”

 _How does he know what I’m imagining?_ Alexa thought with some humor. Out loud she said, “Okay, you too.” She bent down to retrieve her book and Vincent departed down the hallway.

“Hey, Vincent,” Alexa called to the withdrawing figure. Vincent turned around with an inquiring look. “Thanks again!”

The boy gave her a smile before continuing on his way.

Alexa clutched the valuable manuscript to her chest, feeling remarkably happy given what had happened today. She watched Vincent turn the corner before going in the opposite direction toward the dormitories.

 _I’ll never be so happy to sleep in my life,_ Alexa reflected, picturing her tiny yet longed-for bed. She would need all the rest she could get with her unrevealed punishment looming tomorrow.


	8. Punishment

_That’s another thing I can add to my “I hate Shinra” list: they’re hypocrites_.

Alexa theorized the only reason Vincent, Stark and herself weren’t expelled was due to who they were. The three had been caught fighting red-handed, which meant immediate expulsion according to Academy regulation, yet they had been sentenced to a day of _chores_. The Shinra Company needed talented individuals, and they weren’t going to let go of a few who misbehaved if those individuals were deemed “valuable.” So they bent the rules. Alexa acknowledged Vincent was the reason she and Stark were still here, since he was someone Shinra truly wanted to keep their hands on.

Alexa woke early the next morning to find someone had slid a sealed envelope under her door. She ripped it open to find a brief message: _“Report to Mr. Harpen in the Service Management Office at 0700 hours.”_

 _“_ That’s it?” She flipped over the paper in case she was missing any additional information, but it was blank. She looked at the clock and seeing the time scrambled to get dressed.

It was a good thing she had set her alarm to go off early; otherwise she might have been late, which would not have been taken well. As it stood, she did not have time for breakfast. Her main problem was finding where she was supposed to go. Alexa never had reason to visit the Service Management Office and therefore had no idea where it was located. She wandered the ground floor in a panic for five minutes before working up the nerve to ask a janitor for directions.

“Down the hall and to the right, past the kitchens,” the man huffed, jerking his thumb in the direction she had come from. “Now get outta my way, I’m tryin’ to mop.”

The office was tucked into the end of a long shabby corridor, which was why Alexa hadn’t investigated this direction. The mako lights were a little dimmer than she was used to, and buzzed faintly as she walked under them. The office door was closed with a faded curtain pulled tight over the windowpane. She knocked timidly, then a little louder when she didn’t get a response. The second knock did the trick.

“Come in!” a hoarse male voice called.

The door creaked open, revealing a tiny windowless office. Piles of deterring boxes grew towards the ceiling, making Alexa feel instantly claustrophobic. The air reeked of grease, but that may have been due to the room’s proximity to the kitchens. The man inside was sitting at his desk smoking a pipe. He was middle-aged, gangly and mostly bald.

“You must be one of my charges for the day,” the man mused, flipping through some papers next to him. He found the one he was looking for and brought it up to his face until his long nose was touching the paper. “Let’s see… Alexa Spero, then?”

“Yes,” Alexa replied hesitantly.

The man’s bloodshot eyes snapped over to her. “I may not be one of those fancy instructors at this Academy, but I deserve the same respect.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, standing up straighter. “Sorry, sir.”

“That’s more like it.”

Just then, the door was thrust open and Stark stomped in without a word. The door swung into a nearby skyscraper of boxes, making it sway precariously.

“Watch it, boy! You nearly earned yourself another chore!”

Stark did not seem the least bit apologetic. He gave the man with the pipe a quick once-over before deciding he wasn’t much of a threat.

“Can we get this over with?” he asked with an attitude normally reserved for when an adult was out of earshot.

Alexa watched the man’s face turn a deep red and contemplated taking cover.

“I’m only going to say this once.” The man’s hoarse voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “You will do exactly as I say, or else I’ll have you working for me every morning for the rest of your stay at the Academy. Go ahead, try me if you think I’m bluffing.”

Stark was intelligent enough not to answer.

The man grunted as he rose out of his seat. “My name’s Harpen. I’m the Facility Services Manager. Now, the Director has given me permission to make you two do whatever needs to be done, so if you don’t want to work ‘til sunset you’d better be efficient. Any toddling and I’ll give you an extra job, no warnings. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the two students replied, one sounding a little more sincere than the other.

Mr. Harpen set his pipe on the end of his desk and navigated his way around various obstacles over to the door. Alexa had to press herself into a filing cabinet to let him pass.

“Well, time’s a wasting. Let’s get plowing.”

Alexa glanced up at the clock on the wall in alarm. Vincent wasn’t here yet! He’d get in even more trouble if they left to start their punishment without him. Mr. Harpen didn’t seem concerned, however. He held open the door for Alexa and Stark to walk out of the office, and then locked it. They walked in silence through the building and out a side door. The man led the two miscreants to the far back of the complex where the Academy’s greenhouses resided, each about fifty yards long and thirty feet wide.

 _Let’s get plowing_ , repeated Alexa with an inward groan. The manager’s words hadn’t been an expression.

The strong scent of foliage and ripe tomatoes greeted them as the door was slid open. Alexa hadn’t realized how much she missed plants since she came to the Academy, where there was nothing to the landscape but rocks, dirt and shriveled mountain scrub.

“You picked the perfect time to get in trouble,” Harpen told them with an amused grunt. “These beds are in dire need of some attention.”

“No kidding,” Stark said under his breath. The dirt was hard-packed, and overgrown weeds covered the area between the vegetable plants.

“I want you to weed the garden and put ‘em in the compost out back. Once it’s all clear take a hoe and turn up the dirt. Uproot a vegetable plant and I’ll have your hide.” He backed away with the intention of leaving. “I’ll be back in three hours’ time.”

“Sir,” Alexa ventured in a small voice. “Are there any spare gardening gloves we can borrow?”

He gave an incredulous look. “There are, but you ain’t permitted to use them. Besides, digging in with your fingers will make sure you get all the roots out.” With that, the door closed, sealing them inside the greenhouse.

Stark spat in the dirt. “We’re getting bossed around by the groundskeeper,” he said in disgust. “That ass has got some nerve, pretending to have authority over us.”

“Technically, he does,” Alexa told him. “He’s an employee here and we’re only students.”

Ignoring Stark’s glare, she stepped delicately into the first row of plants—cucumbers, it turned out to be—and lowered to the ground. She grabbed the nearest unwanted vegetation and yanked a fistful out of the soil.

“You may be willing to play the servant, but I’m not,” Stark stated, not moving from his post near the door. “This is such a stupid punishment.”

Alexa stifled a vexed noise and turned to look at him. “Can we just get through with this without bickering?” she entreated. “Just start weeding. Unless, you want to wait until Mr. Harpen comes back, so you can tell him you want a different punishment. I bet that will turn out great.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me,” Stark raged.

Alexa returned his stare before continuing her work, pretending he didn’t exist. It was getting easier to stand up to him, she realized. She just needed to be more courageous. Stark stood there a moment longer, watching Alexa make a pile of tiny plants. Eventually he gave up and walked down a row of plants and squatted on the ground, muttering. Alexa hid a smile as she continued picking.

Growing up Alexa had often helped her father in his flower garden, so she was used to the labor. But it soon became obvious Stark had no such experience. He was gripping the weeds too high, so when he pulled the stem snapped, forcing him to dig at the remaining roots with increasing frustration.

“Pinch the weed near the root, as close as you can to the ground. That way it’ll come out whole,” Alexa instructed in a non-insulting tone as to not offend the boy and start a verbal war.

“Mind your own business, Spero,” Stark replied, but followed her advice.

The greenhouse was warm and humid, but that wasn’t too unpleasant. Alexa enjoyed working with nature, feeling the dirt under her fingers. She inhaled deeply, taking in the rich aroma that permeated the air. Alexa found it rather ironic that Director “Garden” was making them pick weeds. But “danger” still fit better in her view. 

xxxxx

The task took nearly all of the three allotted hours. Alexa’s neck and back was killing her. She stood and rolled her head side to side and felt the vertebrae crack. In addition, the lack of food was starting to make her feel light-headed and nauseous.

“Let’s carry these outside,” Alexa said aloud, gripping a large black bag loaded with weeds and dragging it over to the door.

“Do it yourself,” Stark replied. He was sitting against a metal support beam wiping his face with his shirt. He grimaced when it left a dirty splotch on the front.

“No way, Stark. You need to help too,” Alexa argued, releasing the bag and frowning at the boy.

“I don’t have to do anything, and if you tell Harpen I _will_ beat you up for it.”

Alexa was skeptical about that. They had gotten in way too much trouble the last time, and would surely be expelled if they were caught again. Stark wasn’t going to risk that just to beat Alexa up over some weeds.

“What? Don’t believe me?” Stark said, giving her a “try-me” look. “Your boyfriend isn’t always going to be around to protect you. All I have to do is bide my time.”

Alexa gritted her teeth at the presumptuous goad and then sighed. There was no reason to bicker with this stubborn boy when that’s what he wanted. Doing the job herself would take less time anyway.

“Whatever,” she said, and pulled the bag out of the greenhouse.

There were a total of seven bags, so it took her quite a while to bring them out to the compost and dump the plants onto the pile. Stark was lazing about through the entire process, making sure to give her a pompous glance every time she left. On her way back for the final bag, she returned to the greenhouse to find Stark being scolded by an irate Mr. Harpen.

“And because of that, you get to spend tomorrow working for me as well,” the man was telling a fuming Stark. Much to her dismay, when Harpen caught sight of Alexa he rounded on her. “Were you just going to let him lollygag around here? This is punishment for you both and I will not have you do all the work yourself, you hear me? Now show some backbone or else I’ll have you here tomorrow also.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Harpen,” Alexa stammered, incredulous that she had managed to get yelled at. Stark looked mildly happy at the turn of events and Alexa prayed he wasn’t planning of disobeying just to get her in trouble.

“Well, take out that last bag and head to the kitchens. I have your next assignment for you after you eat.”

xxxxx

Lunch consisted of an apple and lukewarm grilled cheese sandwiches—a definite drop-off in quality from the usual fare. Stark looked ready to complain, but Alexa scarfed down her own portion. It was better than going hungry, and she desperately needed the fuel. Once they were finished, Harpen directed them to the back of the kitchen where two full crates of potatoes were waiting.

“These have to be ready for dinner, so hop to it. And try not to mangle them; I don’t want to see half of the potatoes in the garbage, got me?” He handed them each a peeler and left the room.

Alexa picked up the nearest brown lump and sat down on a stool near the scrap bucket for the peels. She began scraping methodically, hoping she could get through the task without cutting herself.

“I always thought making kids peel potatoes was a joke,” Stark muttered, flicking a bit of potato skin off his boots. “It’s so cliché.”

“Can you act mature for just an hour?” Alexa complained.

Stark retaliated by flipping potato skins at her.

 _How was I ever afraid of this guy?_ _He’s just an annoying punk._ Truth be told, he was an annoying punk with mean friends who liked using her as a punching bag. _Oh, that’s why._

She worked, trying to ignore the starchy flecks that occasionally hit her. Even though the potatoes weren’t wet, she fingers were extremely pruney after an hour.

Harpen came to check up on them, during which they received a lecture about being messy. He watched with a critical eye as both students picked up the potato skins that were scattered around the floor due to Stark’s antics. Alexa was too tired to mentally complain.

After they had finished peeling every last potato they had to take out the trash. The smell was atrocious and there was tons of it. Alexa had never imagined the Academy accumulated so much garbage. When an unfortunate mishap made Stark’s bag rip on the bottom, Alexa discovered that most of the garbage was leftover food. Disgusted by the waste of food and by the stench, she gritted her teeth and finished the task as quickly as possible.

“Humph, not bad for slackers,” Mr. Harpen commented when they reassembled. He gave each of them a narrowed glance and then said, “You’re dismissed. Maverick, I’ll see you the same time tomorrow. We’ll see if we can find a remedy for your cheek.”

Alexa was one big, tired, smelly dirt smudge when she finally trudged into the main building. There was dirt buried so deeply under her nails she knew she’d never be able to excavate it all out, but she’d make a valiant effort later.

She was too tired to climb four flights of stairs, so she decided to take the elevator. They were hardly used, since students didn’t want to become lazy—or be ridiculed for being lazy—so she was surprised when the elevator door opened to reveal the cab was already occupied. It was the man from the shooting tournament, the one who had complimented her in the competitor’s tent. He was standing in a corner, reading a file propped open in his hands. Alexa silently stepped into the elevator, pressing the correct floor number on the panel.

“Ms. Spero, how auspicious to run into you,” the man said in his cool slippery voice. Only then did he turn to look up from his papers.

Alexa forced herself to look him in the face and give a tiny nod of greeting. Those steel gray eyes were very unnerving.

“Forgive me, I believe I have not yet introduced myself. Mr. Banford,” he said, extending his hand. “I am one of Shinra’s placement advisors.”

Alexa took the offered hand and shook it, well aware of how dirty she was. His knuckles were covered with scars and his pinkie finger was only a stump.

“What are placement advisors, sir?” Alexa asked in a small voice.

“We select students for specific programs during the end of their second year,” replied Mr. Banford, never shifting his gaze from hers. “It so happens I have my eye on you, Ms. Spero. For a Fodder you show some promise. But if you continue to disregard the rules, I assure you my attention will turn elsewhere.”

Alexa’s eyes widened at the warning. She mentally checked to see if her mouth was gaping open and was relieved it was not.

A pleasant chime indicated they had reached the fourth floor, and Alexa fled the elevator as soon as there was enough room to slip through the opening door. She had a deep suspicion that encounter somehow had been planned.

xxxxx

A knock on her door the next morning woke her out of a restless slumber. She had been dead tired when she fell into bed, but her mind wandered for hours afterwards, worrying about Mr. Banford’s message.

Alexa rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Hello?” she called to the door. At first nobody answered and she assumed she had just imagined the noise. After all, she had never had a guest before. Who would bother coming to see her?

Then a soft voice called, “Alexa?”

 _Holy chocobo turds! It’s Vincent!_ Alexa scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets that tangled around her legs. She ran to the door and yanked it open.

Vincent was standing there, dressed and looking well-rested. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up,” he said, sounding apologetic.

“It’s fine. I was going to get up soon anyway.” _Yeah, maybe in two more hours._ She tossed her wild hair out of her face absently. “So, what’s going on?”

“Well…” He shrugged. “I was headed down to the shooting range for a short practice and was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

“Really? I’d love too!” Alexa exclaimed. Then, noticing she sounded way too excited, added a casual “If you wouldn’t mind.”

The corner of Vincent’s mouth tugged up into an amused smile. “I’d like the company.”

“Okay, well… I’m not ready yet, so…” She looked down at herself, realizing she had actually come to the door in her pajamas. _Can you be more of an idiot, Alexa?_

“If you don’t think you’ll take long, I could wait for you,” Vincent offered. He actually didn’t sound like he minded.

“Thanks! I’ll be quick, don’t worry,” she promised him. She calmly shut the door and then proceeded to tear her room apart as she got dressed. She pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt that was only slightly stained with dirt, and then dragged a comb a few times through her hair, deciding after a second to just put the whole thing in a ponytail. Then she grabbed her shoes and jammed them on her feet. Right before leaving, she glanced at her alarm clock. It read 6:48 am.

 _Wow, he takes practice seriously._ She shook her head, smiling a bit despite the time. _Oh well, since I’m up…_ Without further delay she opened the door.

Vincent was leaning against the wall to the left of her room. “That was quick,” he observed, pushing himself up straight.

They walked down the silent halls, obviously the only ones awake at this hour.

“How did yesterday turn out?” Vincent asked after a while.

“It wasn’t too bad. We worked in the gardens and took out garbage and stuff like that.” She looked back at him curiously. “Where were you?”

“The lab on the third sub-level. I was sent to assist some lab technicians.” He shrugged. “Nothing hard—overly simple, actually. They had me filing reports.”

“You lucked out,” Alexa said, feeling a little jealous. Filing papers was a lot easier than scrubbing potatoes.

Vincent made a face. “I’d rather have taken your punishment. Physical labor is better than getting stuck in a room with four Shinra scientists.”

“What’s wrong with scientists?” Alexa knew that Shinra Academy also housed a smaller science school, but those students and the students in the military school never mingled. In fact, they had their own separate dining hall and dormitories, so most of the time it was hard to remember they existed.

“They’re all cranky old men who only care about what’s under their microscopes,” he told her in an irritated tone. “If you’re not a fascinating type of bacteria they could care less about you.”

Alexa had to giggle at that. “I guess you’ve had bad experiences with scientists.”

“I certainly haven’t had any good experiences,” Vincent told her.

“How do you know so many?” she inquired curiously. He sounded like he had lots of time to develop that particular dislike.

Vincent turned his head to look at her, searching her face a moment before commenting, “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” Alexa asked, caught off guard by his somber tone.

He gave her a tiny smile. “We’ve met before. Years ago.”

She was truly surprised at this announcement. “Really? Where?”

“My father and I came to dinner at your house one night. Our parents were colleagues on a particular project.”

Alexa’s face brightened. “I should have recognized the name! Dad did mention a Dr. Valentine a couple times. He helped him find the missing section for his manuscript.”

Vincent nodded. “My father is a paleontologist, so he probably did.”

“I can’t believe I don’t remember meeting you,” Alexa said, her smile faltering.

“It doesn’t matter; you were young,” Vincent replied evenly. “I was only nine at the time. Besides…” He grinned, amused one more. “I don’t think you’d wanted to remember that night anyway.”

“Why?”

“If I recall correctly, you were angry at your father and didn’t want to come down to eat. Something about not wanting to wear a dress.”

Alexa flushed bright red. She hated wearing dresses as a child—she still did, in fact. That sounded all too like her. “My dad always made me wear a dress when we had company,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Vincent laughed at her expression, but then his face turned thoughtful. “You were very pretty, though.”

She blinked at him and then groaned. “Yea right. You can’t remember that.”

“Whatever you think. I have a good memory.”

Now it was her turn to grin. “Fine. But if our families ever get together for another dinner, I promise you I won’t be wearing a dress this time.”

They had reached the shooting range. Vincent pressed his hand against the console and the door swooshed open. The lights turned on automatically, illuminating the sanctuary.

“I’m glad I got up early today,” Alexa whispered to herself and cheerfully went to check out a pistol.


End file.
